Your Heaven (w/ Hyenadog)

[Kiska]

If it hadn't been for the opportunity he'd been given as a first soloist for the Bolshoi Ballet, Vasiliy Kozlov never would have come back to Moscow. He'd never liked the city as much as he felt he should have, but he'd been willing to put up with it if it meant he was well on his way to achieving his dream of becoming a principal ballerino with the most prestigious ballet in Russia. Being invited to dance as part of their company had practically floored him, and he'd jumped at the chance, even when it meant convincing his rigid Alpha to leave his job in Toronto so they could go back to Moscow together. "What's the point, really?" he'd asked as they'd packed, and the words would always ring through Vasiliy's head now, as long as he lived. "Once they see how bad you actually are, you'll be lucky to be demoted to corps de ballet. They'll probably fire you altogether; there are a hundred other Omega danseurs who can do just as well and better. You'd have been better off staying in Toronto; they already knew what they were getting into when you were promoted. The Bolshoi is going to be in for a shock."

He wasn't entirely wrong. He rarely ever was. They'd just gotten a shock of an entirely different variety.

The apartment he'd been left with after his ex moved out some six months ago overlooked the Moscow River, and Vasiliy hated it. He kept the curtains drawn on the depressing mid-autumn cityscape and rarely opened them. The weather forecast that morning had informed him that it was just over 3°C, and that they'd be expecting snow in the next week or so leading up to the end of October. He missed Canada; though it was still in the same climate range, sometimes it didn't actually snow substantially until well into December, and considering that he walked to where he worked in a small ballet studio, the Artisan School of Dance, he would have rather that the snow held off. The walk was miserable enough on its own without snow and ice to get in the way.

Before leaving, Vasiliy fed his bird, packed his duffel bag with a clean leotard, leggings, a worn-down pair of pointe shoes, a relatively newer set of flat shoes, checked his stock of bandages and tape, and finally stuffed a lunch box and a large water bottle in before closing it. He pulled on his coat and boots, wrapped a thick woolen scarf around his neck, and tugged a hat on over his hair, much more comfortable now that he'd cut off the lengths of ponytail that his ex had insisted he keep. Shouldering his bag, the Omega finally left, making off for the studio in what was to be a cold but uneventful walk to work.

The rest of the day went just as well. He'd noticed some strange activity in another suite in the same building, but paid little attention as he opened for the morning before any of the other instructors arrived and changed into his leotard. The day wore on and his students danced beautifully, coming and going in classes of all levels, spending several hours doing supplemental tutoring for a young ballerina who currently attended the Moscow State Academy of Choreography and was aiming for a principal position with the Mariinsky Theatre, which wouldn't be too difficult. Vasiliy sat with her while they he ate lunch and listened to her dream of becoming an honorary prima ballerina, and though he encouraged her, he couldn't help but feel a little jealous. She had the raw talent and the drive and the stage presence—she was a vibrant danseuse, a showman, so dedicated to being the best that she filled all her spare time dancing until her feet bled.  

Vasiliy had been that driven once. Now he just yelled at kids when they forgot their positions.

At the end of the day, Vasiliy was the last to leave. He stayed behind in the studio to clean up, and when he was finished, he shed his sweater, which normally hid the sickly curvature of his thin frame. He was gaining the weight back well enough that his bones no longer jutted out of his skin, but all Vasiliy could see was the hideous, malnourished body and the scars left behind on his hands. The last thing he wanted was people looking at him.  

He only danced when he was alone, and that evening was to a selection from La Bayadere. The Omega was graceful and fluid, full of emotion as he danced the part of Nikiya, performing her variation at the betrothal celebration of her beloved Solor and the Rajah's daughter, Gamzatti, just the way it had been danced when he'd been with the Mariinsky over six years ago. It was a choreography that he used with his intermediate students to teach them to be expressive, to become a sensory experience and make the audience feel what they were trying to portray.

It was one dance that Vasiliy loved dearly, that required beautiful extensions and amazing muscle control. Originally, it was choreographed for a woman, but the blond Omega didn't care either way; he pulled it off brilliantly, as pain-filled and poignant as any ballerina.